


A Christmas Crackle

by AnnEllspethRaven, SonaBeanSidhe



Category: The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Christmas Fluff, F/M, M/M, Multi, Yuletide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-26
Updated: 2020-12-26
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:35:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28333974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnnEllspethRaven/pseuds/AnnEllspethRaven, https://archiveofourown.org/users/SonaBeanSidhe/pseuds/SonaBeanSidhe
Summary: Yule gets a little strange in Eryn Lasgalen.Dear Readers: This is out some hours later than we would like it to be but so it rolls. This is a Lasg’len AU compatible work, which means that it is meant to go along with this verse but is not considered to be part of the actual story, similar to This Here Salmon Guy. It was fun to write and we hope you enjoy reading it since we spent most of Christmas Eve and Day writing it as our holiday gift. Merry Happy Anything and Everything from us to you!
Relationships: Eldamar Relationships
Comments: 4
Kudos: 6





	A Christmas Crackle

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [At the Edge of Lasg'len](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7899862) by [AnnEllspethRaven](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnnEllspethRaven/pseuds/AnnEllspethRaven), [SonaBeanSidhe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SonaBeanSidhe/pseuds/SonaBeanSidhe). 



> We will also publish two chapters on New Year’s Eve and Day but in the weeks following we are going to publish more slowly. What does that mean? We are not sure. Both of us are dealing with some burnout and creative malaise and the solution is to back off and regroup. Most every day we discuss some aspect of the story and will resume editing and working on art as a means to keep ourselves brainstorming. Right now we need a hiatus because the one thing we refuse to do is write crap and serve it up. As the story gets closer to its ‘finish parts’ it becomes trickier to write, all the storylines have to mesh together without contradictions. So, that.

The early December morning had broken clear but still over Eryn Lasgalen; absent were the bitter breezes too common to this time of year. Kelsey did not care; the gravel of Old Lasg’len road crunched under her boots and far too many layers of wool were between her and the outside air. 

“It is not far from Yule,” Pen commented to her, snugly cradling her arm in his. “Has the little lad said anything about what he wants?”

Her blue eyes glanced up. Not so many years ago, he would no more have minded a holiday gift than today’s alignment of the moons of Jupiter, but he had grown. They all had. Rising on her toes, she bestowed a brief kiss. “Well, no, now that you mention it. And the answer likely is not going to be the collected illustrated works of Dr. Seuss. He’s all lad, with his da’s build. Athletic, plenty of energy. But as there’s an easy solution to this quandary…”

“RALPHIE!” Kelsey hollered into the distance, where the sandy-haired little boy ran amok over and under decaying fences and copses of trees and brush. “RALPHIE WE’VE GOT A QUESTION!!”

“OKAY NANA!!”

Like hell on two legs, the boy raced toward them, pink-cheeked and perfect. Every time Kelsey laid eyes on him she wondered how she’d had anything to do with this. It shouldn’t have been possible but there it was.  _ Eh. He probably got all the good stuff from Ronan. _ Out of breath, sparkly eyes, there he stood. 

Pen knelt down, always mindful not to tower over Ralphie. “I wondered if you knew what you might like to have for Yule, for a present?”

Blink blink. Blink blink. In between the panting for breath, the child inhaled a huge volume of air. “I want a motorcycle,” he said. “One like Granny Lorna’s, with a 90-horsepower, cylinder-head four-stroke and a solar panel, only I want some spikes on the rims, too, so I can go through Orcs like a blender.” That announcement seemed very, very strange in such an innocent little voice.

Pen stared. “Ah, Nana, what do we think about that?” The scholar was in so far over his head daylight was far, far away.

“Sweetie,” Kelsey said carefully. “That is a lot of horses for a lad your size. I would be worried about you going to see Lord Námo much too soon, and then Nana would be sad. We are mortals, not like Pen, but mortal or Elf we can still break and stop working. But we  _ could _ talk to Granny Lorna about what we could build for you that would be more reasonable. What do you think about that?”

This was given due consideration. At ten, Ralphie still tended to forget that humans weren't anywhere near as durable as Elves. “70 horsepower?” he asked.

“I will discuss this with your father, my little Mad Max, and we are going to go to the stables tomorrow if there is time with Hîremel Earlene. Because there is no time to start learning about horsepower like the present, I say! It is close to breakfast, do you want to run back to Eldamar or walk with us?” Scooping him up with her strong arms, Kelsey stealth-smooched him all over his face and set him back down again laughing before he knew what had happened.

“Run to Eldamar,” he said, grinning — he’d lost a front tooth not two days ago. “I’m fastest in my class!” True, he’d tripped over his shoelaces and faceplanted once, but it had been  _ once. _

“Of course you are, Grandma Earlene wished that upon you!” Kelsey smiled, watching him go.

“You should not tell him such confabulations,” Pen scolded, offering his arm again.

“Master Pengolodh, ‘tis Ireland, the very land of confabulations. Besides. I too am a Sullivan, who is to say Earlene and I really are not related? Besides, Earlene is favored by the Elder King...and do you really not think strange things don’t happen by now? Yes, I am teasing him...and maybe not. Look at him. He is happy, full of joy. This mother does not entirely care how he comes by that, so long as he has it.”

The Elf looked down. “I apologize. I did not mean…”

“I know you did not, so leave off of that, it is Yule month and no need to dredge up old yuck,” she smiled.

“But...this motorbike...Kelsey, he’ll...well, he’ll splat his brains out.”

“Yeah. Going to have to find a way to tone that down a bit. Spikes. The sad thing is, I know he didn’t get that from Ronan,” she laughed. “Oops.”

“Maybe we should take the shortcut, before he can ask Lorna for the ninety horsepower version.”

“Ahhhh, shit!”

Pen doubled over laughing. “Come, before Thanadir overhears that! You lot may have gotten to me but not every Elf has fallen!”

The two ran straight toward the forest, making for the little known path...but Kelsey knew all the paths.

Once at Eldamar they found to their dismay that Ralphie beat them to the house, but it hardly mattered; Lorna did not show up at the table and Fëanor was nowhere to be seen either. Odd, and yet this once, completely convenient – as was the fact that today, Ronan was busy in Alqualondë.

The triangle jangled and jarred, and the cry of spinach soufflé went up. Like anyone was going to miss that.

*****

“Good morning, class.”

“Good morning Master Maglor, Master Daeron.”

“Thank you all for being on time. As you know, we have four rehearsals left before our Yule concert and eight carols to work on; that is a lot but I feel confident in your ability. We have already covered in previous discussions why we are still singing ‘old world stuff’ and the value of preserving cultural traditions so with that in mind, our first piece…”

Ralphie tried hard to listen to Maglor, but his eyes drifted over and over to the beautiful girls that had been staying with them since August. Melrían and Mirrían. Nana said they were Grandma Earlene’s granddaughters. Technically his first cousins, but since everyone was adopted there was no actual relationship. Just like their mam and da, they were twin visions of ginger loveliness...who did not know he existed. They spent all their time hanging out with Kirk and Dana and Katherine. The way their ears pointed, and those eyes...he sighed dreamily.

His reverie broken by the tap of Maglor’s conducting wand on his music stand, he realized he’d no idea what song they were doing because he had daydreamed.

_ In the Bleak Midwinter, and try to pay attention. I know it is hard. They are indeed pretty.  _ It was Master Daeron’s voice in his head. He was the nice one. Almost never did he call anyone out in a way that made fun of them. If that happened, it meant the student had been really, really bad. 

Quickly he turned the sheets to the right place but then the paper slipped and all of his carols went ploofffff and cascaded in all directions onto the ground, fanning out for several feet every which way. Mortified, Ralphie froze with a horrified expression. The other children burst into giggles and Maglor’s shoulders slumped in defeat.

“Fuckballs.” That was Harker, because of course it was. “Hang on.” Fortunately for Ralphie, she started picking up the papers, one by one, with solemn deliberation as she tried to figure out what order they went in. At least it meant the other kids had something else to stare at, because Harker’s pigtails had been dyed red and green.

Olivia rolled her eyes. She had a new cello, Ralphie saw, with a neck that looked like his grandparents’ leg lamp, complete with a shade that hovered over her head like a very weird umbrella. “Are we doing  _ The Restroom Door Said ‘Gentlemen’?” _ she asked.

Ralphie was fairly sure that had been somewhere in the papers. He did his best to help Harker, partly because it meant he didn't have to look at anybody else.

Maglor cleared his throat. “Thank you Harker, for being kind enough to help Ralphie. Once again, we are on  _ In the Bleak Midwinter _ . The emphasis he placed on each syllable warned them that further delays would not be appreciated. Daeron smothered a grin, and sat at his harp, toodling with the prelude because Maglor would not dare chastise him.

Kirk stood up:  _ In the bleak midwinter, someone stole the oats. _

_ Ran off to the barn and fed them to the goats. _

_ The cooks got real mad and looked all up and down _

_ But instead for breakfast we ate something brown. _

Daeron played along, delighted. “Did you make that up on the spot?”

Kirk nodded, grinning.

“Really good improvisation!” Daeron praised.

Maglor appeared pained. “Yes. That was...uhm...can we please sing this carol now?”

“Oh. Sorry,” Daeron apologized contritely.

Half the class was sniggering into their coat lapels.

Reggie, perched in the rim of Annwn’s giant sun hat, squeaked, glaring at them all with his beady little eyes. He, his mate, and ten of his offspring had decided they wanted in on choir practice.

“Reggie, it’s okay that you don't know the words,” Annwn said. “You can’t say the words anyway.”

“Or sing them,” Katherine said. “Or... _ could  _ he? Can frogs sing?”

“I’ll tell you later. Ada, I think we’re all ready. We’re ready, right?” Annwn’s odd eyes swept the group, because there was only so much her ada could take.

“Um...probably,” Harker offered. It sounded like people were  _ trying  _ to stifle the giggles, at least.

Ralphie made a mental note to see if Kirk could come up with any more lyrics like that. They sounded like so much more fun than the real song, just...not in front of Uncle Maglor. Nobody had ever actually seen his eye twitch, but nobody with any sense wanted to see just what it would take.

Eventually, laughter was more or less mastered, and twenty pairs of eyes looked at Maglor. They were probably as ready as they were going to be.

To Daeron’s relief, they sang beautifully. And at the end, the Ríans even turned to Ralphie, seemingly at random, and smiled at him. Ralphie afterward studied Daeron suspiciously, but the Elf was busily shuffling his sheet music. He was far too old to fall for that trick.

******

It was cold enough to freeze the tits off a statue, as Aunt Siobhan would put it, and Ralphie was bundled up, swathed in a giant  _ Doctor Who  _ scarf Aunt Chandra had made him (it wasn't  _ all  _ cat fuzz, but a good portion of it was). Idún had a strange patchwork coat and a fuzzy red hat with a pompom on it, and she moved a whole lot easier than Ralphie, since she didn't have anywhere near so many layers.

The sun was bright and thin, glittering off the snowdrifts — it wasn’t very deep, but it was more than enough to blanket the fields. A group of kids had gathered around the pump nearest the wheat field — it had a hose-bib thingy on the actual spigot, so nobody would try to use it until spring. The handle was frost-furred, sparkling a little.

Kirk stared at it with narrowed eyes. The Ríans and the Terror Twins flanked him, which was not a sight anyone with an ounce of common sense would be comfortable with.

“What happens if your tongue gets stuck, though?” Hazel asked. She was the youngest O’Reilly grandkid, an eight-year-old miniature version of her gran — curly red hair and loads of freckles. “I mean, will part’v it rip off or something?”

“Won’t know until I try it, will I?” Kirk said. “I just won’t like,  _ really  _ lick it.”

“That’s what she said,” Idún called. She and Ralphie hurried over, because this was bound to be too good to miss.

“Actually, it’s what  _ he  _ said.” Annwn, of course, had appeared out of nowhere, like a ghost. “Kirk, you’re gonna get your tongue stuck no matter what. Just saying.” She knew that wasn’t going to stop him, because nothing ever stopped Kirk (unless it was total failure, and even then he’d probably try for best out of three).

Indeed it did not deter him; he bent down and touched the tip of his tongue to the handle — where, of course, it stuck, because thermodynamics were a bitch.

“Oops,” Annwn said, when his eyes widened. A tentative attempt to pull away did nothing but make him flail a little, even more wide-eyed.

“Did anybody even dare him to do that?” Idún asked. “Did he make a bet?”

“Nope,” Dana said, rolling her eyes. “He’s not even getting anything out’v this except bragging rights.” Which, given it was Kirk, was probably going to be good enough...if he could actually un-stick his tongue.

“This is a reverse double dog-dare,” Ralphie said, unable to look away. “Nana told me about them.

“Reverse?” Idún asked.

“Yeah, she said only really st–” Ralphie realized what he was about to say. “Uhm, it was something Nana said it is when you do something like this but no one even has to dare you out loud.”

“You sure you’re not making this up?” Idún eyed Ralphie with suspicion, her greenish eyes unconvinced.

“Uh-huh!”

“Well more important, how we gonna–” Annwn was cut off. 

“OFFFFFFËËËËËËËËË!!” Kirk yelled, sounding desperate. 

The other children stared at each other blankly.

“OOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFTTTTTHËËË!!!!!!!” The pitch rose to a scream. 

The pipe rumbled ominously and the rest of them stepped back; seconds later the Maia appeared wearing what for all the world appeared to be an ice gown, except this was more like an ice toga. Maybe? No one really wanted to ask too many questions because even though he was more familiar these days, he was still Ossë. 

“Whaaaaaaooooooo Boss!” shrieked the diminutive creature that adhered to the Maia’s shoulder. “That was awesome!”

Ralphie jumped backward. That...was like a head with only feet attached. Like bird feet, feet.

“Now Kurt, our friend Kirk here is in trouble. We can talk about the awesome later,” Ossë counseled. “Kirk, why is your tongue stuck to a frozen pump handle? You are supposed to be smarter than this. Yes?”

“Ah-hah.” It was the closest Kirk could come to an affirmation, with his tongue stuck as it was.

“Dunno what he thought was gonna happen,” Annwn said, wincing. 

Ralphie wondered how on earth The Kurt managed to travel with Ossë, but decided it was better not to ask — not while Kirk had his tongue stuck, anyway. 

“What’s it taste like?” Dana asked.

“Buwning.”

“Buwning?”

“I think he means ‘burning’,” Annwn offered. “At least it doesn’t actually taste like metal. If you taste actual metal it might be radiation. I saw it in a documentary once.”

Ossë sighed and shook his head, but up from the ground welled clean liquid water, almost frozen, but it flowed just between flesh and pipe. Probably it felt like hell, but it thawed the bond so that Kirk could free his tongue, quickly, and the Ainu inspected it. Not much damage had been done, certainly nothing that was the end of the world, though that tissue might slough off and...well. “Ossë would say, do not do that again.” Both eyebrows were raised and Ossë had That Look.

“Now I know what happens,” Kirk said, grimacing. “Thanks, Ossë. I promise I won’t lick cold things again. Unless it’s like, ice cream, but you’re supposed to lick that.”

“Kurt, don't  _ even,” _ Annwn warned. 

Kurt just blinked at her, scowling. “You never let me have any fun. It’s why Boss is so much better.”

“Now now. It is Yule! We have songs to sing, Kurt! We can even... _ let it grow.” _

“Ooooooh, we can?” The thoroughly adolescent face screwed up in delight. In a surprisingly good tenor, he turned to Ossë, a huge grin on his face.

_ The snow dusts white on the fields today _

_ Not a footprint anywhere _

_ A place to build up a castle _

_ So that Manwë may be King _

_ Yule morning is so close now, little time is left _

_ Everyone should ask, no one be bereft! We  _

_ Everyone go, everyone see _

_ Build with ice cubes not the foam in the sea _

_ Let it grow, let it grow _

_ Yule is coming soon, don’t you know! _

_ Let it grow, let it grow _

_ A pretty palace, a winter show _

_ Come up here, tell what you want–  _

_ Yule is my favoritest time of year _

While the astonished children watched and listened to the really decent duet, Ossë caused a grand ice castle to arise before them, inviting by gesture for them to follow into it. The others seemed braver, and went first; Ralphie held back a little and Annwn and Idún were nice enough not to ditch him.

After a moment’s resolve, he followed, flanked on either side by a little silver-haired girl. Could life get any weirder? Apparently they were all going to find out — them, and a group of Hobbit-kids on a long sled being pulled by some really, really giant fluffy ginger cats.

“Huh,” Annwn said, as it zipped by. “Wonder where they came from.”

There wasn’t any time to ask; all they could do was hurry after it, up the clear steps that somehow weren’t so slippery that anyone landed on their arse (or face). Once inside, they discovered another set of stairs, as well as a line, currently being enforced by some rather bored-looking Dwarves in red suits with white furry trim...and big plastic Elf ears.

“Those look like the ears the eejits in the bookstore in England wore,” Annwn said. “The ones my ada made cry with his music. Er, in a good way.”

One kid was allowed to scrambled up the stairs — little Hazel, who found herself faced with, well…

“Whut,” Annwn said flatly. That was  _ Manwë, the Elder freaking King _ , dressed up in a  _ Santa suit,  _ complete with fake white beard. He listened to whatever Hazel whispered, handed her a gingerbread eagle, and then sent her off down a long slide into ‘snow’ that seemed to be made out of powdered sugar, given how thoroughly it coated the girl.

Dana and Katherine went next (apparently the Dwarfelves didn't want to deal with trying to separate them), followed by the Ríans (same). Powdered sugar poofed up into the air each time someone went down the slide.

“You go first,” Annwn said, when they reached the head of the line. Up Ralphie went with grim determination, because this was his one perfect chance to ask for what he  _ really, really wanted. _

“Ah! Kelsey and Ronan and Atia and Aoife and...you have so many parents no one can count that high! Do you like that, Ralphie?” Manwë asked cheerfully.

“Uh...Uh...Uh-huh!” Ralphie stumbled, feeling like he was blowing it but Eru he was so nervous! Manwë was so beautiful with pretty eyes and a big voice and how could he possibly care about...what was he even here for? Oh no...now he forgot! Think, Ralphie, think!

“What would you like to have for Yule, Ralphie? Something special?”

“Uh..Uh...Uh…”

“Kid, there’s other kids waiting still,” a big dwarf, whose name tag said ‘Thorin’, said. He looked kinda bored. “You wouldn’t want the nice girl behind you to miss her turn, right? It’s okay if you don’t have anything exactly to tell Santa Manwë. He loves everyone and the dwarves still make the most kick ass presents on Arda.”

“Ah, Thorin? Very good enthusiasm but maybe the language is a little unseemly? These are children,” Manwë smiled patiently.

Thorin scratched his head. “Shit. I mean, oops. Sorry.”   
  
Annwn massaged her forehead.

“Here, kid. Just take the slide, if you think of something later you can always pray to Irmo, you’ve still gotta few days left.”

“Thorin, it is  _ Lord _ Irmo.”

“Shit. I mean, oops. Sorry.”

Ralphie blinked, and in a ball of confusion allowed Thorin to lead him away to the slide. Nooooooooooo this could not be happening...Ralphie scrabbled for a hold to arrest his descent. “I WANT A  MOTORCYCLE ONE LIKE GRANNY LORNA’S WITH A 90 HORSEPOWER CYLINDER-HEAD FOUR-STROKE AND A SOLAR PANEL AND SPIKED RIMS SO I CAN GO THROUGH ORCS LIKE A BLENDER,” he hollered, staring at the Elder King.

Manwë stared at the child, pity in his eyes. “You’ll splat your brains out, kid!”

Ralphie’s foot slipped, and he went sliding, sliding until he ended up in the midst of his peers, and Ossë picked him up.

“Ralphie, even Ossë is not  _ that _ crazy.” When the child did not answer, the Maia said nothing, but patted him on the back, and shooed the other children off and began carrying him toward Eldamar. Sometimes young ones needed a magical libation known as hot cocoa.

*****

“This is my favorite part,” Thanaidr whispered excitedly to Erestor. Thanadir held onto Erestor tightly, and Erestor held onto the Purple Pygmy puff and both were swaddled in a giant Ravenclaw blanket wearing their matching S.P.E.W. hats. The result was something out of chapter 32 of the  _ Monster Book of Monsters, _ not that anyone was about to tell them that.

Míriel was just about to inquire of Pengolodh as to the nature of their...decorations...when Annwn said from across the room, “Heremel, it is Christmas,” seemingly at random. The dignified elleth raised an eyebrow, and just then the _ Starship Enterprise _ fired forward photon torpedoes from the treetop. Laughing, a cat distracted her so she threw a ball of string instead. Maglor smiled, proud of his daughter. She was becoming a very decent politician in her own way.

“What do you mean?” Erestor asked, confused. 

“This is opening the presents. The best part. Er, the second best part. The best part is Mairead and Earlene’s desserts.”

“Both of them make desserts?” Erestor considered, not having realized the full potential of this. “Yes. Meldis has always said that Mairead makes the better cakes, and now she has our cocoa from Valinor, so she can make her chocolate cake. You never knew them, because you were not here before. You only got vanilla.”

The inky eyebrow rose.

“Are you two talking about sugar again?” Thranduil asked from across the room, Earlene snuggled against him. Assorted Sullivan children were draped on around and over Glorfindel, who seemed an island of gold amidst flax, almost a living celandine.

“Maaaaaaaaaaybe,” the two answered evasively. 

Daeron stared at Faeleth with an expression that meant,  _ are they quite alright? _

Laughing, Faeleth stood. “Today in honor of my father, I will begin the gift-giving. As we all know, he loves Harry Potter, so this is my small present to everyone here.” With a wave of her hand, colorful frosted cupcakes flew into the room, one for every person there but two each for Thanadir and Erestor. The cupcakes made a great show of zooming around the room with a trail of sparks and streams of light before coming to hover in front of each of their recipients, the favorite flavor of each.

“I am impressed,” Thranduil said after taking a nibble. “A very mild custard, with fresh peach inside, and a barely sweetened vanilla whipped cream on top.”

_ “Ooooooooooooh……” _

“Kurt!” Ossë scolded. “Not now!”

_ “Awwwwww!” _

“They won’t make us all go to sleep, will they?” Saoirse asked. “They haven’t got sleeping draughts, or anything like that?”

Gran eyed hers, somewhat suspiciously. Lorna knew she hadn't yet decided whether or not she approved of magic in food, but a taste shifted her expression to distinct appreciation. “It’d be a shame if they did,” she opined. “Can’t savor it if you’re not awake.”

Annwn, who had somehow acquired both tinsel halo and some extremely convincing wings, scurried to pass out more presents, with Idún not far behind. When Ratiri opened Sharley’s, he stared at it — until it went skittering across the floor like a monstrously oversized, knitted spider-octopus, whereupon it sat on the Lump.

“Is that...is that knitted Cthulhu?” he asked. The yarn was green and strangely iridescent, shining in the firelight.

“Yep.” Sharley looked extremely pleased. “Don't worry, he won’t actually nom anything.”

“We think,” Annwn added under her breath.

The yarn creation abandoned the Lump, and crawled up to sit on Idún’s shoulder.

“Is that thing purring?” Chandra asked, unable to take her eyes off of it. “Is it supposed to do that?”

“Er...no, actually.” Quite abruptly, Sharley had gone from proud to distinctly nervous.

“Sharley,” Lorna said, “what did we say about making sentient life?”

“Not today?” Sharley offered.

Annwn, not to be deterred, deposited a box so tall it came up to her waist in front of Thranduil. “That one’s from Aunt Lorna,” she said. “You should probably be afraid.  _ I  _ kinda am.”

“I had help,” Lorna said, pointing at Fëanor (who currently had Otitis draped around his neck like a scarf). “Geezer and Shiv helped too.”

“Is this potentially explosive?” Thranduil asked cautiously, considering the ‘help.’ One could not be too careful with these things.

Lorna’s answer was not nearly as reassuring as she thought it was: “ _ This  _ one’s not.”

“This is for your wanderings,” Fëanor added. “Before I am accused of being me with too much accuracy.”

“Was that supposed to reassure me?” Thranduil inquired, brows elevated. But he smiled. The object, whatever it was, had been swaddled in a heavy cloth and so he undid the cord binding it; the gift had some heft to it. When freed, he stared.

“OOoooooooOOOOooohhhhhhhhh!” Thanadir exclaimed at once. “That is beautiful! I always wanted one of–” 

“Meldir!”

“Oops,” Thanadir hushed, The Eyes at nine. Everyone in the room seemed very uncomfortable to see him so distressed while Thranduil tried so hard to work out what this familiar (and yet not) object was, but then four more cupcakes sailed into the room and soon all was well behind the Pygmy Puff.

“How come they get extra mmmmffffff–” Ralphie had begun to ask, before Ronan’s hand clapped over his son’s mouth and the other ruffled the lad’s hair with a winning smile. 

Kelsey smiled approvingly from across the room.  _ Good move, that. _

“This is a sextant. But it is not a sextant,” Thranduil told Lorna. “And it is beautiful. Is this a hint that last time we were gone too long and should have found our way home faster?”

“Pretty much,” Lorna admitted. The metal bits had been an absolute bastard to craft — she’d discovered duochrome metal, and insisted on using it (both for Thranduil’s present and for Fëanor’s, though hopefully the latter hadn't worked that out yet). “It’s actually an  [ octant ](https://youtu.be/iiCY94LMBVg) — kind’v like an eighteenth-century GPS.”

_ “Doesn’t sound nearly as much fun as a sextant,”  _ Kurt said.

“Kurt, I can guarantee you that whatever you’re picturing in that dirty little mind’v yours, it’s not a sextant,” Siobhan said, rolling her eyes.

“I know how this is used...but this needs trigonometric tables of date and time to compute latitude if I am not mistaken…”

Erestor pointed at Thanadir, who at that moment had just bitten into his second cupcake and had frosting all over his nose, and now that his name had been spoken had a case of The Eyes again.

“If you do not go kiss him, I will,” Earlene threatened under her breath.

“ _ Ada’s busted, Ada’s busted _ ,” the Blond Everyone singsonged from Glorfindel.

“Oh my gooooooooooooood,” Thranduil swore under his breath, as most of the Sullivan contingent erupted in laughter.

“What is so funny!?!” Thanadir demanded, almost angrily.

“That your husband is an idiot, love,” Thranduil said, kneeling in front of the Pygmy Puff and kissing off the frosting, giving Thanadir a big hug. “You knew it was an octant and you have all the tables memorized, don’t you?”

Happy again, Thanadir smiled and hugged Thranduil back. “Maaaaaybeeee.”

“Which means yes, my Elven Mr. Spock,” Thranduil said admiringly, tapping him on the nose and giving a chaste kiss to his cheek. “I do not deserve you.”

“ _ Awwwwwwwwww,”  _ rose from the entire room, and Thanadir blushed pink and pleased. 

“He called me Mr. Spock!” Thanadir whispered to Erestor excitedly.

Ralphie wondered a little about the grown-ups in his life but...what was he supposed to do? Fëanor got something called a  [ Wimshurst Machine ](https://youtu.be/XMO2NGrW1mU) that made electricity that was high voltage and no one told him  _ you’ll fry your eyeballs out, Elf, _ which was deeply unfair.

Annwn and Idún wound up with matching skies (shiny silvery things that would probably blind someone if they were looked at in direct sunlight); everyone received some sort of cat-fuzz knitted good from Chandra, who apparently had five binbags of fuzz stuffed in the cottage’s attic. Sharley had made Maglor a cloak that looked very like a polar bear’s fleece, heavy and warm; Pat got a motorized skateboard from Lorna, who had been wanting an excuse to make one for nearly three decades.

Eventually, it came to be Ralphie’s turn. He had a fair pile to pick from, but decided it was probably safest to go with Great-Great-Gran’s. She was as tiny as Granny Lorna, with snow-white hair and Aunt Mairead’s blue eyes, and a cane she totally didn't actually need — she just used it to poke cats when they tried to trip her. Whatever she’d made, it was pretty big, and he had to unwind about five yards of fabric before he reached the actual box.

“It might be a little big,” Great-Great-Gran said. “Go on, hold it up.”

To Ralphie’s utter horror, he found the box filled with extremely pink, fluffy fabric — what had once been called Pepto-Bismol pink. Hold it up he did, with immense trepidation, and discovered that it was some sort of footie pajamas, complete with a hood sporting bunny ears and — oh  _ Eru  _ — an actual cotton tail on the butt.  _ Oh no. Oh, NO. _

Fortunately, he was saved having to try to say ‘thank you’ by Granny Lorna. “Gran, what in the name’v bloody fuck is  _ that  _ meant to be?” she asked, incredulous. “He’s not a four-year-old girl, for Christ’s sake. Where’d you even find that fabric?”

“Up the chimney, of course,” the old woman said.

Ralphie was further saved by the Lump, who managed to bite that cotton tail, drag the offending garment right out of his hands, and bounded off with it, vanishing into the kitchen. Basker trotted right after her, tail wagging. Moments later, a truly thunderous fart echoed out into the Heart Room.

Granny Lorna, bless her, gave him a wink, and tossed a Christmas stocking at him.  _ It  _ at least had some chocolate in it, which distracted somewhat from the fact that his face was just about as pink as that fluffy monstrosity.

_ “He’s not a demented Easter Bunneeeeeeeeeee,” _ Kelsey enunciated to perfection, wearing all her holiday finery and looking...quite fine. Mam was very pretty in her nice dress. At least, he thought so. Maybe Pen did too, because he stared at her a lot. Her sparkly jewels Hîradar Thranduil had given her glittered when she handed him another present. “Here Ralphie. I made you something for your room, and I hope you like it.”

Nana present. Awesome. Nana usually gave really good presents — definitely nothing like a demented Easter Bunny. This one was much smaller, and very light; when he carefully opened it, he found...a quilled motorcycle frame. It was beautiful, sure, but it made his heart sink, because he was pretty sure that was the closest thing he was going to get to what he actually wanted, and it almost felt like mockery. “Thank you, Nana,” he managed, but he couldn’t keep the dejection from his tone. It was like if movie-Ralphie got given a Super Soaker keychain instead of a bb gun.

“You’re welcome, sweetheart,” Kelsey smiled, kissing him on the top of his head.

“Was that everything?” Míriel asked, looking over her usual dragon’s hoard worth of presents.

“Oh, wait. Here is a little one, for Thaladir,” Fëanor noticed, passing it along to the far side of the room, where as expected all the eyes followed the small but really extravagantly wrapped package as it caterpillared to its intended recipient. Nobody noticed Ronan, Lorna and Fëanor slip away from the others.

_ I hope he doesn't keel over once he’s caught sight’v this,  _ Lorna said, as they tiptoed out. It was, of course, absolutely freezing outside, and both humans shivered while they fetched Ralphie’s  _ real  _ present. It was impossible to wrap, but they’d at least managed an extremely large, complex velvet bow, courtesy of Thanadir and Erestor.

They had to pause at the door to wipe the tires off (nobody wanted to deal with what Earlene might do if they tracked a bunch of snow into the house), and then tiptoed it, silent, all the way to the Heart Room.

“All right, Ralphie,” Lorna said, “this was your da’s — he was riding it when he found the forest, just after the plague.”

Ralphie turned, and his jaw dropped. It wasn't a motorcycle, but it was absolutely lethal anyway — jet black with chrome accents and, yes, actual spikes on the hubcaps. “Da’s Moped?”

“Yours, now,” Ronan said. “This thing saved my life, so be careful with it. We’ll take you out for a ride after lunch, so you can get a feel for it.”

_ “That’s what—” _

“MUTE, Kurt.”

“Really?” The boy’s eyes absolutely lit up as he approached, running a hand over the glossy black paint. It was actually cooler than Granny Lorna’s just because it had been his Da’s. Ralphie had heard the story of how Da left what remained of Dublin during the plague, and by accident found his way to New Lasgalen...and this was what got him here.

“Did I scare you?” Kelsey smiled, crouching down next to Ralphie, her expression impish.

“Kind’v,” he admitted sheepishly. He should have known Nana wouldn’t  _ actually  _ do something like that — wouldn’t give him the equivalent of a Super Soaker keychain.

“I hope you forgive me. We needed a decoy,” she admitted, giving him a quick peck to the cheek. “Just promise me the trees won’t tell me you’ve ditched in the Enchanted River.” With a grin she patted him on the shoulder and left well enough alone, no one needed a clingy mam. Strolling over to Ronan while Ralphie was dragging Lorna and Fëanor by the hand to ask them questions, she offered him a high-five. “You were totally right. I’m just glad it was this and not the ninety horses.”

“I hope he never does want the ninety horses,” Ronan said, returning it. “Or at least, not until he’s at least thirty. Mam had me out on her motorcycle once. It was an...experience.” Not one he had ever chosen to repeat, either. Then again, it was entirely possible to ride a motorcycle and  _ not  _ drive like his mother, for whom the phrase ‘bat out of hell’ was a vast understatement. Ralphie would be safe tooling around the village.

“Good job, da,” Kelsey smiled. “And Happy Christmas.” For all many aspects of Ralphie coming into this world had been an unqualified shitshow, sure as hell no one would do a trade in now. “And you too, mams,” she said to Atia and Aoife, who had sidled up.

“Happy Christmas to everyone,” Ronan said. “Never thought we’d all be here at once.”

“I never thought we’d wind up with even more leg lamps,” Atia said dryly. She and Aoife had each given the other one, so at least they had a matching set.

“Aunt Earlene, what’s for dinner?” Ronan asked. “I think Ralphie’ll be busy for a while, I can help.”

“Gran and Mairead have got the cake,” Lorna called. “I’ll just stay out’v the way.” Gran was the one who’d taught Mairead to cook in the first place, but Lorna had not exactly been a stellar culinary student. Gran always told her she did well enough, given how late she’d got started learning, but a chef she most definitely was not.

“The kulfi’s still chilling outdoors,” Ratiri said. “I can bring it in for afters. It’ll go well with the cake.” He eyed his knitted Cthulhu, which, disconcertingly, seemed to eye him back. It must have reached some sort of decision, because it scampered across the floor and climbed its way up to his shoulder, once again purring like a cat.

“Yeah, I mighta gone a little overboard with that,” Sharley said, wincing.

“I’ll call him Fred,” Ratiri said. “He can keep the cats off my face at night.” He probably did not imagine the purr’s rise in volume.

“We are having two turkeys and a whole lamb,” Earlene said proudly. “Glorfindel and I will be overseeing the main course, all breads, pies and cookies. “I hear that Masters Daeron and Erestor are to be initiated into the Ellyn Roasting Club tonight.”

“Is that good?” Erestor asked cautiously.

“There are snacks,” Thanadir confirmed. “And Ratiri’s ale.”

“OoooooooOOOohhhh.”

Ratiri blushed like a brick but otherwise held up well.

“Well then,” Earlene declared happily. “About an hour’s break, and we will get going in there, for anyone wanting to help out.”

“Are singing carols ‘helping?’” Daeron asked.

Thranduil smiled wolfishly. Glorfindel clapped a hand over his mouth. “Yes, they are, and we would be delighted and privileged to hear your voice, Master.” Aside, he hissed in Thranduil’s ear, “ _ what am I going to do with you?!”  _ though basically everyone in their marriage knew the answer to that. Earlene eyed the clock, rolling her eyes. Well. One guess where the hour was going.

**

Erestor stood back, having ensured the massive ceramic platter was spotlessly clean while Celegorm and Maglor bore in the spit; Fëanor and Ratiri, plus Daeron and Ronan maneuvered carefully around the actual door frame also with a tray underneath the lamb juuuust in case anything gave way, though it should not be able to. (Another of Nana’s favorite sayings was,  _ Should, would, and could mean possibilities and possibilities are not definite. Anything not definite could still go arseways and probably will especially if it matters that it does not).  _ In moments, the spit was removed, and males did what males have done since the dawn of time. Eyes glanced from side to side, gauging if someone could pick off a bit of meat to taste without Earlene noticing. 

The Earlene in question did not turn around but said, “Everyone can have a  _ little _ piece then please put on the waxed cloths and cover it to rest.”

They needed no second urging, nor was there any discussion before the entire household formed a line, and each took a tiny piece as they passed. Nobody wanted to mention just how good it was, lest they somehow jinx it.

Ratiri broke off to deal with his kulfi (still chilling nicely), while the Dessert Squad returned to business. Mairead and Gran had set Ronan to beating cake batter, and Gran had actually entrusted a bowl of icing to Lorna (though she constantly checked over her granddaughter’s shoulder, just in case). Chandra had agreed to supervise Ralphie while he kept looking over his new ride — and kept the cats away while she was at it.

When everyone was the hell out of the kitchen again (Thanadir telepathically informed Erestor how to take note of all the little things about Earlene that were early warning indicators of Trouble in the Kitchen and all the assorted bomb defusal techniques, from a kiss to a brief backrub to where the Elven wine bottles were stashed) Earlene eyed the clock and the external thermometers, warning the carrot peelers about the imminent removal of the turkeys from the oven. Sure enough, the overweight toms that had lazed around the pasture the last two years had reached the perfect temperature; with Faeleth’s help both birds that each tipped about 15kg made it to their landing zones in golden brown perfection. All the extra blubber had made them self-basting and didn’t they look yummy! 

“I really love these Spanish Black birds,” Earlene approved. “So worth keeping, and they’ve got five brain cells instead’v the usual three. We’re going to have those drumsticks and wings off prior to carving; they need to be made into a confit. No one who wants teeth left should try to eat those. Somebody who is unoccupied please wait seven minutes then remove those joints and cover the birds same as the lamb please?”

“I’m on it,” Pat said, raising his eggnog in a vague toast.

“We probably ought to set the table,” Grania added.

“Oh boy, here we go,” Lorna muttered. That was Gran’s cue, Eru help them all; she was probably the only person on Earth who remembered all the old-fashioned rules of dinner settings and etiquette. At the very least, she was probably the only person who really  _ cared.  _ Just as she’d always done on holidays at Mairead’s, she set out an example place setting at the head of the table, laid out with absolutely military precision.

“All right, you lot, I know you can manage,” she said, her eyes sweeping the room. “My great-grandchildren had it worked out by the time each’v them was five.”

“Yeah, well, your granddaughter didn't,” Lorna said dryly.

Gran gave her a pat on the shoulder. “Yes, allanah, but you were raised by wolves. Nobody’d expect you to know a salad fork from pitchfork.”

“Pardon me, Gran, but may I please ask what this is that you are doing? I have never seen this particular activity in this household.” A very interested Thanadir stood ramrod straight, hands folded in front of him at a respectful distance.

“I think he means the ruler,” Lorna added. She’d all but forgot about that thing in the years since Gran died.

“It’s how you know you’ve got your place setting just right,” Gran said. “Here, you see — you want your utensils to be an even distance apart from each other and the plate.” She wielded the ruler with almost ruthless precision. “Your glasses go in a triangle like this, and there’ll be a champagne flute, in theory.”

“Gran’s sister was in service in some posh house in England,” Lorna explained. “She learned how all that...worked.”

“And then the bastards fired her in favor’v some niece’v the cook’s, so she nicked some silverware on the way out,” Gran added.

“This is extremely seemly. I approve of this. I only wish I had known much sooner,” the forlorn Elf said plaintively.

“You know about it now,” Erestor pointed out.

“This is true…” A beatific smile began to spread across the seemingly innocent face.

“You should’ve been around when I was a kid,” Mairead said. “There were lessons in how to use all’v this.”

“Thranduil, d’you remember early on when we first met, and I asked if the Elves had six forks at every meal?” Lorna asked. “This. This is why I worried.” She noticed that some of the cutlery looked extremely familiar — Gran’s formal silver, that Mairead had kept packed away for fear Gran’s ghost would come down and smack her upside the head if she bent a fork. The entire set had, of course, been lifted by her sticky-fingered grandfather as a wedding present.

“I do…” he replied, leaning in enough to examine the outlay. “My only suggestion is that someone help Saoirse and Harker, and probably Liam and Mavourneen too, or things could get a little–”

The idea was interrupted by the most bloodcurdling scream ever to disturb Eldamar. At least, that anyone could recall. It was Earlene, the word was ‘No’ and the level of vitriol behind it meant fairly certain death for someone, especially when the ‘No’s’ did not stop, there were crashes, things breaking, and then ‘ _ YOU ROTTEN SONS’V BITCHES WHEN I CATCH YOU LAMB’S NOT GOING TO BE THE MENUUUUUUUUUU’  _ as it faded out of the back door. They all crowded back into the kitchen, mindful of not stepping on Gran or Lorna (to his credit, Thanadir scooped Gran up into sort of a seat in his arms, shouldering his way past all the others, setting her down at once in the middle of the wrecked kitchen. The platter that held the lamb was in thirty odd pieces shattered on the floor, meat juice everywhere (and every cat horning in on that action). The turkeys were gone, their platters on the floor but intact. To add insult, Faragon came through on a bombing run, snatching a drumstick on his way out the door.

“Meldis!” Thanadir exclaimed, thoroughly upset; he dashed out the door at a dead run. 

Thranduil and Glorfindel stared at each other. “The, um, dinner is gone and she is chasing it,” the former king explained. 

The sapphire eyes widened in exasperation.

“Yeah…” Thranduil said, making for the door with Glorfindel behind him; they also disappeared.

“I kept telling you, Maglor, he is getting too spoiled but would you listen?” Celegorm waggled his finger. “Nooooooo. Now look at it. What are you going to say to Earlene? Might as well pack your bags for the bloody Faroes, brother mine.”

“What do you mean, pack my bags?”

“I mean your  _ BLOODY GREAT HOUND DOG IS RUNNING THROUGH THE GREENWOOD WITH AN ENTIRE ROAST CHRISTMAS LAMB, YOU NITWIT!! _ ” Celegorm shouted, red-faced.

Maglor looked right and left, and glanced hopefully at Sharley.

Sharley placed her hands on either side of his face. “Laurë. Honey. You really ought to get Basker, because I’m not sure Earlene won’t skin him if she gets her hands on him first. He’ll actually come if  _ you  _ call him, and then maybe you oughtta go hide out in Chandra’s cottage until Earlene’s not out for blood anymore.” If they were  _ lucky,  _ Earlene would only skin Basker; Sharley was not wholly convinced she wouldn’t try to at least flay Maglor’s feet.

“Christmas isn’t usually this exciting,” Lorna said.

“It still doesn’t explain where the turkeys went,” Maglor noted, because denial is a many splendored thing. Across the room, Pen smacked his forehead and began threading his way over there.

“Thaladir’s dogs got them,” Sharley said. “I think this mighta been a coordinated effort on the part of all the cats and dogs. I think I spotted all the cats in there somewhere.” Actually, she was pretty sure she’d seen at least one ocelot involved.  _ Uh, Faeleth, just how homicidal is your Nana right now? _

“My dogs?!? My dogs?!?” the meltdown began. “Your dog taught my dogs Dog Unseemliness? Maglor! Now Nana is mad at my dogs and my dogs helped ruin Christmas!!” Thaladir was winding up.

“Oh good Jesus,” Erynion muttered.

“Is he for real?” Ronan whispered.

“Yeah,” Lancaeron whispered back. “It’s...wait. The one person who can…”

“Thaladir!!” Algar grabbed him by both shoulders. He had filled out much more and had grown much stronger than his still willowy brother, who seemed determined to take after Legolas physically. “They’re bloody dogs! Get a grip! Look at me!” He shook him, but just a tiny bit. Only enough to get his attention. “There is no ‘dog unseemliness.’ You’re just upset and that’s okay. It’s food. Arda’s still turning on its axis. It’ll be okay.” 

The green eyes studied his brother for a moment and smiled. “Sorry. I’m being an eejit.”

Algar hugged his brother. “No. Just stressed.”

“Thank bloody Eru,” Erynion said. “Algar’s like...he keeps it level. Ya know?”

Ronan smiled. “Yeah. Me and level had some getting to know each other. But what–”

“EVVYBLUVVYYYYYYYY!!!” The bombshell known as Allanah marched into the room, giant husband in tow. “I have just been informed that the solution to life, this dinner, and everything is at hand but first we gotta help Gran and Mairead cover the food that didn’t get plundered. Ready set go!” she bellowed impressively. The Ríans at her side pointed imperiously, for extra effect.

The swarm of Donovans that flowed into the kitchen did so with a speed that Ratiri honestly found a touch disturbing. No, they didn't have telepathy, but it seemed like they didn't need it — they flowed around Mairead like a dark-haired sea, with nary a wasted movement.

He himself ducked outside to check on the kulfi, which was mercifully undiscovered by anything with four legs. Just to be safe, he returned to the house just long enough to snag a bath towel and spread it over the bucket that held each serving. It was unlikely any of the felines would think to look on his and Lorna’s balcony, so in he and the bucket went, trekking upstairs.

“Is it a solution that’ll keep your mother from murdering anyone in the face?” Siobhan asked hopefully. “All she needs is ginger hair and she’d make a bloody good Boudicca.”

Faeleth returned, uncannily seeming to know when the house was half-arsed squared away.

***bink***

The entire family, including the four runners in a temporary state of suspension, suddenly found themselves inside of the Cascadia Cafe in Lasg’len. The cook and waitress on duty stared at them, stunned. “Uh, we’ve only got burgers, cheeseburgers and fries.” Her accent was distinctly American.

“And apple pie,” the cook reminded her.

“Yeah, that.”

“Well, get at least 18 burgers and fries rolling,” Faeleth said, and we’ll get you a better count as soon as we get our shite together. Lorna or Pen, which one’v you counts people and orders burgers better?”

“Well, I, er, uh…” Pen blushed.

“Oh for the sake of Varda,” Míriel began until Fëanor threw Lorna under the bus. 

“Lorna is so good at this,” he said authoritatively. “Everyone knows mothers are better at these things.”

“Damn straight,” Nerdanel growled.

_ Oh, for fuck’s sake…  _ Lorna did a quick headcount, and realized they were going to need a lot more than 18. “We’ll be needing food for 50, I think,” she said. “Gran, Mairead, we might need to jump in and help.”

“You go on, Mairead,” Gran said. “We’ll set the tables.” Out came not only the ruler, but an assortment of plastic cutlery that seemed to have appeared from literally nowhere, with a suddenness that made Lorna blink, because  _ how? _

**

Breakfast was a comparatively quiet affair, given that half the humans were still fighting off a mild but unpleasant strain of influenza Iceland had inadvertently shipped to Galway. Mairead had largely escaped it, but Lorna and Ratiri had not; the pair of them sat bundled in extra layers, several of which had some additional fuzz donated by the assorted cats.

“You would not bloody  _ believe  _ the dream I had last night,” Lorna said into her tea. Her voice was hoarse, but at least she  _ had  _ one, unlike poor Ratiri — he sounded like a frog who’d swallowed a kilo of sand. “It was like Eldamar did its own version’v  _ A Christmas Story,  _ only all the Sullivans were here, too — and so was Gran, which somehow wasn’t weird.”

“I dreamt about Gran, too,” Mairead said. “And the Sullivans…”

“And Ronan and Kelsey’s son?” Ratiri offered. “Who they’d called Ralphie?”

The three of them stared at one another, because...what? “Sharley, did you have anything to do with…”

“With Ralphie?” Sharley said. “No, I didn't.” Her eyes scanned the table; Pat was fussing over Grania, who looked about ready to kill him if he told her to have just one more cup of tea. Saoirse and Harker were both pale and feverish, as was Supri. Ronan had been hit with a very light case, and was already mostly mended. Had Lord Irmo had a little fun with them all last night? Fever-dreams shared with those who couldn’t get fevers?

“Basker stole the lamb, and Earlene went ballistic,” Ratiri said slowly; the details of the dream were fuzzy, but more seemed to become clear with a little effort. “And we wound up in the diner.”

“Kirk licked a pump handle, and Ossë rescued him,” Annwn supplied. ‘Ralphie’ had seemed so familiar in the dream — one of those cases where you totally knew who the person was when you were dreaming, and only wondered ‘who the hell was that?’ when you woke up. “I wonder if Ossë had weird dreams last night, too.”

“I’m tempted to radio Litharroth, if I’m honest,” Lorna said. “Just because...whut.”

“We don't have a name for the kid yet,” Ronan said, coughing into his sleeve, “but it’s  _ not  _ going to be Ralphie.” He was pretty sure he could speak for all of them in that, at least. 

“I’m never gonna get over Lord Manwë being Santa,” Annwn said. The Dwarves dressed as Christmas Elves were weird, sure, but not nearly as weird as Santa Manwë. And  _ Kurt… _ that was just a hard Nope. 

“Not gonna lie,” Sharley said, “I kinda want to try to make Yarn Cthulhu.”

The radio room’s signal light lit up, and Annwn scrambled to go answer it, since none of the humans needed to be running around right now. 

“Was anybody expecting a message today?” Ratiri asked. He hoped it wasn’t going to be nasty news from Galway.

Annwn returned a moment later. “That was from the Tower,” she said. “It said, ‘Manwë says NO.’”

One look at Sharley’s expression made Lorna dissolve into laughter (and coughing). Ratiri wasn’t far behind her.

Maglor leaned over to kiss his wife, chuckling. “It would seem the Lord Irmo was offering us entertainment, but that Lord Manwë had the last word.”

“True,” Sharley admitted, glancing at him slyly. “I may not get to knit, but I do remember the words to the Christmas carol.”

“You wouldn’t,” Maglor said to her.

Outside, walking toward the house, all of them heard in Daeron’s lovely tenor,  _ “...and fed them to the goats...” _

“He totally would,” Annwn pointed out.

Maglor’s expression was unfathomable.

“I double dog dare ya,” Lorna scratched out in her gravelly voice, smiling evilly.

“Shit,” the musician breathed softly.

Daeron walked up to the table just as it erupted in cheers, appearing very uncertain but smiling a little. He really did not know what to ask. Or if to ask. Or whether to ask. “I had the strangest dream last night,” he said instead.


End file.
